


The Dragon and the Knight

by LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: AND THAT SONG, Angst, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff, Hurt, Oh dear it's Akimov's homebrew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:29:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29904585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife/pseuds/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife
Summary: He was sitting, staring down into a tea cup that was clenched so tightly in his hands, that his knuckles were white. His face was a picture of angry unhappiness, brows creased, mouth downcast, his usually sunny eyes were overcast and stormy...-Based upon the 2019 'Chernobyl' HBO series and the characters therein.Please heed warnings and tags and notes etc before reading.-Alright Bambinos, please read and enjoy!Kudos and Comments always greatly appreciated.
Relationships: Anatoly Dyatlov/Original Female Character, Boris Stolyarchuk/Original Female Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	The Dragon and the Knight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NatashaRedFox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatashaRedFox/gifts).



> Based on an idea prompt from NatashaRedFox for her OC, Anya's, origins and some background information to 'flesh' the character out. So that she's more than just Bryukhanov's guard dog. There's a reason for her toughness...

"He was here before we arrived. Holding that same cup of tea. He looks… upset…" she mentioned.

She pointed over to where Boris Stolyarchuk was sitting, across from where they were standing, where they'd just put their tray in the rack of dirty crockery. He was sitting, staring down into a tea cup. It was clenched so tightly in his hands, that his knuckles were white. His face was a picture of angry unhappiness, brows creased, mouth downcast, his usually sunny eyes were overcast and stormy.

"Yes… He does." Anatoly turned, taking a step towards the exit.

She grabbed his arm, pausing his escape. "Maybe you could go and talk to him? See what the problem is? He's helped you in the past hasn't he?" she whispered, leaning into him, her smiling eyes pleading with him.

"Yes, love. I know." He sighed. "But you know how I'm not very good with these things," he waved a hand around, "you know… _emotions_ and the like. I'll probably only upset him more than he already is…" he hissed back at her.

"You're better than you think, love. Go on, give it a go at least," she looked up at him. 

He sighed at her. Her big, beautiful eyes really gave him zero options, bar one. He rolled his eyes back at her.

"You'll try? for me?" she pleaded again.

He huffed and nodded. _Impossible woman!_ he thought. _Why am I always doing things that I ordinarily wouldn't, because of her?_

"Thank you, love! Oh, and do try not to frown so much," she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.

He grumbled, but gladly accepted the kiss from her and walked over to where Boris slouched.

"Stolyarchuk?" he said, looking down at the younger man. He remembered what Roza had said, and softened his stern stare as best as he could. Which wasn't much.

The young man lifted his eyes up. They were red rimmed and with large black patches underneath. 

Dyatlov sucked in a breath. "Can I sit?" he asked.

Boris nodded, looking down, frowning at his cold cup of tea.

"So… is there anything you want to talk about… to me I mean…? About anything… you know… of a _personal_ nature?" Dyatlov asked as he settled in the chair opposite the sad younger Comrade.

The other man shook his head.

Dyatlov frowned. _Maybe another tack is needed,_ he thought.

"You know that I can't allow you in the control room if you're like this. You'll make a mistake if you're not concentrating on the job fully. So…" he paused, remembering another, previous, conversation between them. "Maybe I can help? If it's something puzzling or annoying you?" he tried.

Stolyarchuk sighed. "It's nothing. Nothing _anyone_ can help with!" he hissed.

"Well… if you don't ask for help, you'll never know how to solve the problem, if help is needed. Isn't that how it goes?"

The look that Stolyarchuk sent him made Dyatlov pause and squint his eyes, looking again to make sure that what he saw was correct. It was a stare alright, but more like the sad stare of a kicked puppy or kitten, not the hard withering _glare_ of an angry woodpecker. He had to bite the side of his mouth to stop from laughing or smiling. He thought back to that same conversation again, where the younger man had helped him out of a tricky spot. He frowned. _Maybe the problem here is of a similar nature?_ he thought.

"Er… is there a problem between yourself and your woman, Anya?" he asked. He watched as the young man sagged even further and choked down a sob. _Shit!_ he thought. _Roza will never forgive me if I make the poor bastard cry! And in public too!_

"Come on! You're coming with me!" Dyatlov stood, motioning for the younger man to follow him. "Hurry up, I've not got all fucking day!" he fell back on his usual routine, giving an order in such a way that they'd no choice but to obey.

"Sir…?" Boris asked carefully. Not wanting to be the recipient of any shouting. 

"Move it! Don't make me ask you again!"

Boris shot up, trailing after his boss. He followed him out of the canteen, along the corridor and into Dyatlov's office. He sat in the chair in front of the desk that his boss pointed at, and watched him fidget with a pen on his desk. Dyatlov finally looked up at him and released a deep sigh.

"Come on then. Out with it! What's going on with you and Anya?"

"That's the problem. There isn't _anything_ going on! She doesn't want to see me. She's avoiding me! She won't even talk to me, apart from to shout at me to leave her alone. Ever since last week, last Thursday at my apartment. One minute we were sitting on the sofa… um… doing _things_. I got up to make some tea, leaving her watching the TV. Next thing I know, she's running out the door and…" his voice hitched as he choked down a sob, "…and now she's not wanting to see me any more!" 

Dyatlov watched him as he spoke. The young man finished talking, then hung his head, looking down, anywhere but up at him, his shoulders were shaking and he was sniffing. Dyatlov sighed. He reached in his desk drawer and pulled out a box of tissues. Glad that his Roza had 'feminised' his office somewhat. He pushed the box across his desk to the younger man. Watching as his shaky hand pulled a tissue from the box. He dried his eyes and blew his nose, then peered up at him.

"Thank you, Sir," he mumbled. "So… Do you think that you can help me then?"

"I will try, but I'm not promising anything," he said. The young man's face fell at the last part. "But… I'll ask Roza to talk to Anya. Those two have gotten closer recently, that's probably your best chance," he added. The young man looked back up at him, sending him a happy, if a little watery, smile.

"Thank you! Oh, I need to get back to the control room!" he shot up from his chair.

"No. You will go straight home from here. I'll sort out someone to cover your shift. You're in no fit state to work. Take the rest of the day off. That's an order!"

Dyatlov watched the young engineer leave, then spent the next ten minutes on his telephone, calling in cover for him. Something was nagging him though, poking at him from the back of his mind. Something in the details that Stolyarchuk had told him. Some small point that was important. He scribbled down the details of what he had just been told. He might not be any good with emotions, but give him some numbers and a mystery to solve - then that he _could_ do.

-

He was sitting on the sofa, back at their apartment. Roza was cuddled up close to his side, keeping him lovely and warm. His arm was wrapped around her, a glass of vodka was held in his other hand. He's sipping at it, brows furrowed, thinking back to last Thursday. He was absolutely certain that the key to this problem was there. With Anya fleeing from Stolyarchuk's place. _They were watching TV weren't they? Maybe something on there had triggered her fleeing?_ he thought. He tried retracing his steps on that evening. The foggy clouds finally parted and he started to remember something. 

A memory waved its hands and jumped up and down, waving a big, red flag, trying to get his attention. There'd been a propaganda news film last Thursday about a big forest fire in Siberia. He remembered shouting at the stupid, ridiculous program and switching the TV off. Roza had asked him about it, and he'd shook his head, remembering a particularly bad fire over twenty years ago that had destroyed a whole village, killing over thirty people. 

He was working at the naval base by then, so had heard about it when the military were called away from where he was to help out there, putting the massive fire out. He remembered the faces of some of them when they came back. _Haunted._ Shaking their heads, not wanting to talk about it. It was only later on that the news of what happened had filtered down. Well whatever watered down version of things counted as news anyway. But still, the pictures in the newspapers and the reports over the radio were still horrible. Burned bodies, people missing… No wonder the soldiers were tight lipped about what they saw.

"It's got something to do with that program she saw. I'm sure of it!" Anatoly said. "Her accent is Moscow standard yes, but I recognise that Siberian lilt that she lets slip sometimes, usually when shouting at some poor bastard, like me! It's the same accent as mine, eh?" he frowned. "All the personnel records are in her office. Under lock and key. I know where she keeps the key and which cabinet when I've asked her for details before. You need to distract her while I check something. Can you do that?" he asked. 

She nodded a reply.

-

He rifled through the folders, searching for hers. _Aha!_ He pulled the record out and jotted down the details he needed, stuffing the piece of paper and pencil deep into his jacket pocket. He swiftly replaced everything as it was upon hearing her returning footfalls. He raced to one of the chairs opposite Anya's desk where people waited to be seen by Bryukhanov. Sitting down and doing his best impression of innocent nonchalance just in time, as she stormed back into the office.

"You need to keep a tighter leash on your wife Comrade Dyatlov! She's just wasted fifteen minutes of my precious time on some useless fucking triviality! She knows fine well how to fix that stupid Xerox machine herself!"

"Oh… yes?" Dyatlov said, trying to keep a straight face and not smile at her. Not now that he had the information to possibly figure things out. It wouldn't do to anger the dragon after all. "I'll come back later I think, you can tell Bryukhanov I've just remembered I've got to be elsewhere," he stood to leave.

"What? Another bloody useless time waster! Like husband, like wife!" she tutted. Pointedly ignoring him as he walked out of the office.

-

"Did you find anything out?" she asked him.

"Yes, I think so, love!"

"Oh?"

"She was born in a small village in Siberia. It's in the middle of the big arboreal forest there. I _knew_ there was something wrapped up in that stupid propoganda film that thursday, so I 'phoned the big library in Kyiv last week and they sent me copies of a load of newspapers from back then. That village was destroyed by a massive wildfire that ran through there twenty years ago. From the list of the dead, I found her parents, two siblings, uncle, aunt and four cousins were all killed too."

"And! This is the best bit… Or worst, of course! She was the only one pulled out alive from the whole damn village! 'The Miracle Child' they called her! She was found at the bottom of the stone well where her mother had dropped her! Look!" he held up some copies of newspaper clippings from then. "She was a fucking propaganda story herself!" he frowned. "She's no next of kin on the personnel card, so she probably ended up in one of those boarding schools where they stuck orphans?"

"Oh! That's so sad!" Roza said, her eyes filling up with tears. "The news last Thursday of the big forest fire there must have reminded her of all that. But it still doesn't explain why she dumped Boris, does it?"

"No. That's where _you_ ," he pointed at her, then at the dozen bottles of homebrew that were sitting upon the table, "and that _ghastliness_ come in!"

"Oh?" she frowned.

"Yes! Get her drunk enough to tell you! A cunning plan eh? I really can't be doing with another fucking week of Stolyarchuk moping around like a kicked puppy!"

"Hmmm… why do all your plans seem to revolve around Akimov's homebrew?" she scrunched her nose.

He laughed.

-

"So… Anatoly's working late tonight, and I thought that we could… you know… spend some time catching up…? That you could keep me company?"

"I'm busy."

"Oh…" she took an involuntary step back from the icy glare that was sent her way.

"Such a shame. And I got Anatoly to make some sgibni specially for us too. But if you're too busy…?" she went to leave.

"Wait… ones with cheese?" she squinted her eyes.

"Yes, extra sour cottage cheese! And also some with cherries!"

"Hmmm… maybe I can spare an hour for you. But that's all! No sillyness or asking me fucking _inane_ questions! Just the food, then I'm off!"

"Oh! Yes! Excellent!"

Anya tutted at the other woman's enthusiasm. "Meet me here at five. On the dot! Not a second later!"

"Yes! Yes! I'll see you here. At five! Byeee!" 

Another tut as Roza left, but this time Anya had a small smile upon her face at the other woman's infectious giggling. She had to consciously tamp the smile down and away. She shook her head. _What have I stupidly let myself in for? I should be the dizzy blonde if things went by looks alone, not her!_ she thought. _Still, Dyatlov's cooking is spot on._ She laughed at the absurdity of that grumpy woodpecker turning out to be such a good cook!

-

"Are you ok?" Anya asked the other woman as she wobbled on her legs upon dismounting the motorcycle.

"Um… I think so… do you always drive so fast?"

"Ha! I was deliberately driving slowly for you!"

"Ohhh! Um… Are you sure that Boris won't mind that I've borrowed his trousers and helmet?" Roza asked quietly. 

A stare was her only answer. 

"Er… this way," she led the way up to and into hers and Anatoly's apartment. 

"Oh, hang on…" 

Anya watched as Roza sped in front of her and quickly swept some fallen clothing up from the living room floor. _Underwear!_ she thought with a pang of sadness at remembering how her and Boris often caused her apartment to look the same.

"Please, sit down, I'll get us some drinks to go with the pies!" Roza urged.

Anya nodded, then turned and shouted after the other woman. "Drinks? I hope it's not Akimov's horrendous homebrew?"

"Um… sorry…" Roza came through with a bottle of the purple alcohol and two glasses. "I'm afraid it's all we have at the moment until next payday," she said as she set the bottle down on the table.

"It'll have to do then," Anya shrugged as she de-corked the bottle and poured two glasses while Roza went back into the kitchen. The delicious smell of the cheese sgibni that preceded her return into the living room, reminded her of her babushka's kitchen from her childhood. So much so that she grabbed one of the full glasses and downed it in one, then poured another and downed that one too. Trying to get rid of the memory. Wanting to push any vestiges of happiness away. _Pointless remembering any of that, it just reminds me of all I've lost._

"So…" Roza set the plates down on the table. "Let me know what you think? I mean you're from Siberia, just like Anatoly aren't you, so you'll know if he's made them correctly or not, yes?"

"Yes. But I've… I've not tried any in over fifteen years," Anya whispered. She reached a shaky hand out towards one of the little pies. They had the pinches at the edges, just like her babushka used to do. She took a bite and closed her eyes. "Mmmm…" she sighed. The taste instantly transported her back to being a twelve year old girl, sitting in the overstuffed kitchen of her maternal grandmother, her babushka. The one that looked after her when her parents had died. That kitchen was always full of herbs, garlic and fruit hanging up to dry over the large wood fired range and jars upon jars of pickled vegetables and always at least four cats!

"Good?" Roza asked, her hands wringing themselves as she waited for an answer.

"Yes! You can congratulate Dyatlov on his cooking skills!" Anya watched as the other woman's face lit up with a big smile and her fidgeting ceased. She couldn't help smiling up at her.

"Oh… another drink? Your glass is empty!"

"Yes please. Funnily enough, the homebrew and these cheese sgibni seem to weirdly compliment each other!" 

That ate and chatted. Silly everyday things like the weather and also serious stuff like work and the big visitation from the high up party members and the KGB last month. Roza had steered the conversation towards her and Anatoly's wedding and the cleaning cupboard. She managed to get what seemed to be wistful smiles from Anya if she mentioned Boris to her. There wasn't any anger there. She detected regret maybe? And some head shaking denial. A refusal to take the conversation along a certain route. There was deliberate steering away from anything to do with herself or Boris. The big clue though was when Roza mentioned her family. That conversation got shut down straight away.

After their fourth bottle of homebrew, Roza decided to broach the subject and initiate 'The Plan'. She'd spent the last hour tiptoeing around the subject, but decided to just come out with it. She took a deep breath and ploughed ahead.

"So… you and Boris?"

"There is no me and Boris!"

"But there was, wasn't there?"

"Yes. There was."

"Was there a reason you decided to… move on?"

"Yes! But it's none of your business," she downed her glass and poured another.

"I know. Sorry. I shouldn't ask. But it's just… you just seemed so happy together…"

"I was… but that's the past. I can't…" she shook her head. _I've said too much already!_

"You can't what? Please talk to me Anya. I might not be able to help fix anything, but sometimes talking about something that hurts so much, well it helps?"

Anya sighed. 

"There was a story my babushka used to tell me. Before bedtime. It was my favourite," she held her glass out for a refill, downing it before continuing.

"My elderly Babushka used to tell me a tale of the fire breathing dragon that lived in the hills. Of how it set fire to the forest if men didn't look after it properly. And how it was impervious to everything that was thrown at it. It's hide thick enough to withstand any blows or weapons. The only one that had come near was a young knight that had sung to the dragon, luring it out of its lair. He himself was amazed at the dragon's ferocious beauty as it sat and tamely listened to his singing. Each day as he sang, he crept closer and closer to the dragon. On the last day, the young knight had paused his singing and plunged his Lance into the dragon. But he'd deliberately missed. He couldn't go through with the killing. The Dragon pulled the Lance out of its side, screaming with rage and fury. She used the Knight's own Lance to kill him instead. The dragon roared its sorrow to the heavens and carried the poor, mortally wounded man away from her lair, leaving him by the banks of the river to die."

She paused to gulp another drink down. 

"I modelled herself on that dragon. It had worked. Until now. Until Boris pierced my armour, got past my thick hide."

"That TV program reminded me of what could happen if I let my defences down though. How my beautiful knight would die because of me. Just like everyone else close to me has," Anya shook her head, her brows furrowed, her eyes flashing.

"Oh, but wait, my mother used to tell me the same one you know. The same story. And you've forgotten the last part of it. About how a witch noticed the poor dying knight by the banks of the river. Had listened to his story, told to her with his dying breaths, of how he'd fallen in love with the dragon's fierce beauty. The witch then turned him into a nightingale that sang to the dragon every night. Soothing and calming it. Taming her with its loving song, so that the dragon would never be alone again."

Anya looked up. Tears filled her eyes.

"I… I never heard that ending… All the stories I got told, by my babushka, were of being strong. Standing up to everyone. Doing everything better than anyone else. Then when she died…" a small pause and a catch in her voice gave away her emotions at this thought, "…and I got sent to boarding school in Moscow, I was constantly being told to hide away from stupid emotions. To not show any myself. So as not to get hurt or used! It worked. Up until recently. Boris… he broke through. Saw that there was more to me than just a shouty… what is it they call me?"

"I wouldn't take any notice of things like that!"

"Bryukhanov's guard dog. The _Dragon_. I've heard them all!"

"Psh, stupid talk! Pay no heed!"

"We were good together… I… I had feelings for him," Anya whispered.

"So why break up with him?"

" _They all die!_ Everybody I've been close to! I can't… I can't take the chance with him… that something could happen to him… then I'd be left alone again… it's just easier this way. End it now before I get too attached. If I've got no one in my life, then I've got no one to lose!"

"It's not just Boris you know…"

"Not just Boris, what?"

"I mean… I'm your friend too, aren't I?"

Anya frowned. She'd not considered this. There'd been no friends before for her to compare what she and Roza had.

"And I know Anatoly cares about you too."

"Ha!" Anya snorted.

"Yes. In his own grumpy way. He made these specially for you," she pointed at the remnants of the sgibni on the plates in front of them.

"So… You'd have to get rid of the both of us too if you want to go down that route. And I'm not so easy to get rid of!" she took a big gulp of her drink. Expecting for Anya to stand and run. But she didn't. She just sat, staring at the sgibni, frowning down at them. _She didn't even swear! Not even one tiny swear. Oh! What have I done?_ Roza waited quietly. Her hands clenching and unclenching around each other.

"You need to stop that you know. It's a 'tell'," Anya said quietly.

"A what?" Roza looked up sharply.

"It gives away what you're thinking. You'd be no good at poker you know. With a tell like that. The teachers at school used to smack my hands whenever they caught me doing that. Or biting my nails. Or anything that could show how I felt."

"Oh! That doesn't sound very nice."

"It wasn't. But it got me where I am now."

"Yes, it might have got you here _today_ … But where do you want to be _tomorrow_? Who do you want to be with tomorrow, if you could choose… with no consequences?" Roza asked, gripping her hands tightly together to stop them fidgeting.

Anya choked a sob down. 

"Boris," she whispered. "I would choose Boris!"

"Oh!" Roza rushed around the table, from where she was sitting on the other side, on the pouffe. She sat on the sofa next to her friend. Hugging her as the dam finally burst, shoulder racking sobs poured forth as Anya released a flood of tears. Years of pent up emotions were released. Roza patted her back, stroked her hair. Then pulled away as Anya sat back up and sniffed.

"Will you help me? Help me get him back?"

"Yes! Yes of course! Oh, hang on!" she rushed out into the kitchen, a plate of more sgibni in one hand and another bottle of homebrew in the other, a napkin thrown over her shoulder.

The food and drink were placed on the table in front of them. The napkin was handed to Anya, to dry her tears and mop up any more.

"We need nourishment while plotting! And you've not tried these cherry ones yet!"

-

Anatoly Dyatlov frowned at the sight of the motorcycle that was parked outside his apartment block. His frown turned to a smile as he heard singing when he put his key into the lock of his front door. He recognised _that_ song. He'd told Roza to get Anya drunk enough to find out what was going on and to try to help fix her and Boris. But singing that song? That was a whole 'nother level of drunk. One he knew from personal experience ended with a hangover to end all hangovers. He smiled to himself as he crept in. He checked his watch: two in the morning. _It's a good job that it's Saturday tomorrow, well today!_ he thought.

He walked into the living room. Anya was lying down on the sofa, his Roza was lying on the floor, well, on a nest made of a couple of blankets and a pillow on the floor. The table was pushed over to the side out of the way.

"Anatoly!" Roza screeched as she turned her head and spotted him.

"Comrade Dyatlov!" Anya shouted at him, waving a mostly empty bottle of Akimov's homebrew in his direction. "Welcome home! Now sit! You can help us plot my getting back with beautiful Boris! We need a man's point of view and… You're a man!"

"Yeeees…? last time I looked…?"

"Last time I looked too…!" Roza giggled.

"So, me being a man…?"

"Yes! You're a man, so you'll understand _man things!_ " Anya waved a hand in his direction.

"Man things?" he asked.

"Yes… you know. How men think and what they think of," Anya stated.

Anatoly smirked.

Both women laughed.

"Yea… that's about it then I guess?" Anya said.

"Yep. That's _man things_ done then!" Roza added.

"Pretty much the same thing as _women things_ then!" Anya giggled.

Both women fell about laughing again.

"I'll leave you two to your plotting," he yawned. "Oh. Were they any good?" he pointed at the remnants of the sgibni on the table, well, the few crumbs really.

"Yes! Delicious! You'd make a marvelous babushka Comrade Dyatlov!"

He snorted and shook his head as the two women laughed merrily and started singing again. He headed out towards the bathroom for a shower, then some sleep. Well, as much sleep as he could get with all the cackling and singing going on through there. _Good job I've nicked some earplugs from work!_ he thought. 

_I'll not let the pair of them forget about this in a hurry… If ever!_ he chuckled to himself. _There'll be some rotten headaches come morning!_ he thought, grinning wickedly to himself.

-

He padded out of the bedroom, intending to get a glass of water. He paused, smiling at the scene before him. Both women were fast asleep. Pretty much in the same position he'd left them in earlier. Anya on the sofa, Roza on the floor. The table and floor were littered with empty bottles, remnants of the purple liquid they had contained rested in the bottom of two glasses. He checked the clock. Six in the morning. He walked back into the bedroom, and came back out with two heavy blankets. One went on Anya, the other on Roza. Neither so much as stirred as he did so. Both were out, completely sparko! And both were snoring away loudly. _Thank fuck for earplugs!_ he thought as he got his water, checked that there was enough coffee in the cupboard, and headed back to bed. 

-

"This is the only plan you two idiots could come up with? _Seriously?_ "

"It's always worked for us! That cupboard is very lucky!" Roza said.

"Well _I've_ had decidedly variable results dragging men in here!" Anya sighed.

"Shhhh. They'll be here any minute now. Get in there! And keep quiet. Oh, and there'll be no random grabbing or dragging this time. I'm not leaving anything to chance!" she giggled.

Roza closed the door, leaving it open a crack and loitered around outside. She could hear the two men chatting, the sounds of their voices brought them nearer. One deeper, more accented. The other one with softer, gentler tones. 

"Oh, Hello Anatoly, Boris! Fancy meeting you here!" she said, talking very loudly. _Get ready Anya!_ she thought.

"Roza," Boris replied, "are you alright?"

"Is er…?" Anatoly motioned with his head towards the cupboard.

"Yes!"

"Right!" 

The two of them bundled Boris into the cupboard amid sharp, shouted cries of protest. Anatoly pulled the door firmly shut.

They both waited a while outside the door, ready to push whoever sped out, back in again.

Roza crept nearer to the door, leaning towards it. 

"Well?" Anatoly asked.

"Talking. I can't make out what's being said…"

"And now?"

"Oh… now she's shouting…"

"Shit, really?"

"Shhh, love. More talking. _Oh!_ Not so much talking now!" she giggled.

"Oh?" he asked. 

They grinned at each other as several moans were heard from within. One higher pitched, the other deeper, more growly. 

" _Ah…_ best leave them to it then. I'd say that's a successful execution of that little plan, eh?" Anatoly grinned at his wife and pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around her, nestling his face into her neck. He brushed the shell of her ear with his lips, nibbling at her there. A whimper was his reward. 

"How about we go back to my office and do some 'not so much talking' of our own, eh?" he whispered to her, his voice deeper than usual, laden with his want for her.

"Mmmm… yes please, love. Anya's told me all about this position and I'd like to try it out."

"Oh?" he asked, pulling back and peering into her beautiful eyes, one of his eyebrows raised in query. "Or how about I just lean you up against the wall and have you right here, in this corridor!" he growled, pushing against her until her back hit the wall.

"Later, love, maybe when there's less people around. Come on… let's go to your office. We need to use your chair for this one. I'll show you!" she said, giggling as he ran his moustache along her jawline. 

"Maybe…" he ground his groin into her, tightening his grip on her waist, leaning down to grab her lips for a kiss.

"Oi! Dyatlov! Some of us have just had our lunch!" 

"Randy old git!"

"Go find a cupboard!"

"Or a room!"

He sighed into her neck as she giggled. He pulled back, smiling down at her. Then turned to his hecklers, a large grin on his face.

"Excellent idea Sitnikov! I've still got the key to my old office!"

"Hey!"

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Flight of the Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29980944) by [NatashaRedFox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatashaRedFox/pseuds/NatashaRedFox)




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